


Oh, Borderline

by argylemikewheeler



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti)
Genre: Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Pining, eighties music being gay and great
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-09
Updated: 2020-02-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:07:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22623016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argylemikewheeler/pseuds/argylemikewheeler
Summary: Richie being wistful while listening to synthy-pop music and pining over Eddie.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 46





	Oh, Borderline

**Author's Note:**

> I walked into my dining hall today and they were playing Borderline and this sort of just. happened. Something small and short, but focused and sad. Thank you for tolerating me. xo

Richie stands at the lamp post across from the arcade, lighting a cigarette and bopping to the music in his headphones. The tinny, muffled music can be heard winding out from his matted curls, if anyone got close enough. No one does. It’s assumed he’s listening to brooding-- or horrifically weird-- music, the undesirable and unmatching clothes make sure of it. He’s waiting for Eddie’s movie to finish, checking the time. He _isn’t_ counting the seconds. The song ends and Richie reaches to rewind to start the song over again. He hides his player, barely pulling it out of his pocket. Passersby assume it’s backwards chanting or taped ornithological lecture notes.

In fact, he’s listening to fucking _Madonna_ pretending each puff of his cigarette isn’t a wistful sigh: _just try to understand, I’ve given all I can. ‘cause you’ve got the best of me.... Borderline. Feels like I’m going to lose my mind._

Eddie’s movie finishes and Richie spots him through the glass doors. He stubs his cigarette out on the lamp and flicks it into the street. He pulls his headphones down to rest around his neck, adjusting his glasses and fixing his hair in one nonchalant motion.

"How was your movie?” Richie asks. He doesn’t process the answer, not really. He nods, but he takes the time-- the recounting of the entire plot Eddie is somehow able to do moments after finishing a movie, with symbolic interpretation too-- to catch his breath.

_Something in your eyes is makin such a fool of me_

“That sounds cool.” Richie doesn’t even remember the name of the movie Eddie saw. He tries to look up at catch the marquee. “Glad you liked it.”

Eddie blinks and Richie thinks he’s done something wrong. He stiffens and looks around, following Eddie’s own gaze. “What are you listening to?”

“What?” It occurs to Richie that his music is still playing.

“Oh. Nothing. Just, uh.” He swallows. “Some mix Ben made me. Trying to freshen up my interests.”

“You like it so far?” Eddie loops his arm through Richie’s, starting them down the street. Richie digs his hands further into his denim jacket. He makes it look to the rest of the world like he’s just blind, being led around by his trusty sighted companion.

But Richie can see, he can see very well. He can see the sun-streaks forming at the crown of Eddie’s head from spending so much time at the quarry-- but the pale, unfreckled complexion that came from constantly putting on sunscreen every fifteen minutes. He’s in a bright shirt: white with golden, honey stripes, bordered with darker orange ones. The sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, his forearms-- healed and unscathed now-- exposed: one is tucked against Richie’s jacket while the other swings by his side.

“Eh, it’s okay. Bunch of sappy love songs.”

“And what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing.” He reaches into his pocket and stops the tape: _there’s something I just got to say_. “Sometimes love songs get repetitive. Beautiful eyes _this_ , I feel so happy _that._ Best time of my life blah blah blah. I get it!”

“Don’t be _so_ bitter, Richie.” Eddie laughs and Richie has to make sure he doesn’t stop walking. Eddie turns to look at Richie, rolling his eyes when he sees his audience is already looking. “So cynical.”

“Why don’t you borrow it.” Richie says, losing beat with Eddie’s gait. “Then you can get back and agree with me."

“Who says I’ll agree? I like Ben’s taste in music.”

It was a desperate hope; Eddie would agree with _something_ Richie was feeling, be it the music or... otherwise.

“Then listen and prove me wrong. Show me love doesn’t suck.” Richie mutters. He clenches his jaw, trying to keep his expression on the side of disinterested, and not slowly cracking right down the middle.

“Oh, that’s the fucking easy part.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Maybe that was a sign, or maybe even a signal, but Richie has to refrain from being hopeful. Love had proven to him time and time again that it only knew pain and frustration. That it only knew how to stand outside in the setting days of summer, never getting inside and being a part of the scene. That it manifested as nonverbal, incoherent screaming when he was alone and underwater in the quarry-- the rest of his friends splashing just feet away. That it was never going to find Richie, but it was never going to leave him alone.

It would be easy because Eddie knows what love is. He probably loves a lot of people-- and would love a whole lot more in his long lifetime. Richie knew it would be so simple for Eddie to find ways in which love was light and revolutionary. The men Eddie would love after high school would be so lucky, so brightened.

There’s a part of Richie that knows Eddie loves him, too. But in the way that Eddie also loves the other Losers. It’s the way he connects to everyone: through their heart. Richie knows he’s loved, but it feels wrong to accept when Richie knows who he is deep down, a side Eddie doesn’t know exists. A side that could incriminate Richie now that Eddie had come out.

Eddie’s love could feel manipulated the moment Richie says he’s attracted to other boys-- specifically the one constantly flipping him out the hammock. Eddie had started loving him with the safety that Richie would never ask for it to be romantic-- as he did with all the Losers.

But Richie wants it to be romantic. He wants to love Eddie the way that all his stupid music describes. He wants to know why romance doesn’t suck; he wants to know why it feels so good to admit there is something good inside of him all along. There must be if Eddie loves him.

And that’s horrifying. Being around his best friend makes Richie feel valued and feel light, like all his laughter is genuine and giddy. What would happen when Richie had to bury it? When he couldn’t let himself look forward to seeing Eddie or get nervous when he’d be meeting up with him-- _just him._ When he had to stop accepting Eddie’s love because he didn’t deserve to feel so good about being _so bad_.

Richie sighs and steps over a thick crack in the sidewalk. He checks his watch but doesn’t register the time. “You know, I don’t think I can hang at the clubhouse tonight. I have to go home.”

“Oh. Are you sure? Since when?”

“Yeah. Have to.”

“Walk me there at least?” Eddie tightens his grip on Richie’s arm.

"Sure. Yeah, ‘course I can.”

_Something in the way you love me won’t let me be._


End file.
